My favourite Poem | #BEDM Day 12

I have something very different to what I would normally write about here on 

The prompt for today’s #BEDM post is poetry. Well I’m no poet. So instead I thought I would share with you my favourite poem. 

This poem is nearly 100 years old but it is still very powerful and has relevance with me even today. 

I was first introduced to it as part of my GCSE work almost twenty years ago. I can still quote many of the lines off by heart. 

It is a War poem written by Wilfred Owen in 1917 called Dulche et Decorum et

Yes it’s a little bit on the morbid side but every time I hear it it reminds me of how lucky I am. That neither my children or I have to live through the sort of horrors that were supposed to end ‘war to end all wars’.

Of course there are still major conflicts today, and sadly probably will be for many years to come. 

Let’s remind ourselves now how lucky those of us that live in peaceful communities are and how both men and women, such of as those in the poem, have sacrificed so that we can. 

Dulche et Decorum et

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, 

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, 

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,

And towards our distant rest began to trudge. 

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots, 

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; 

Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots 

Of gas-shells dropping softly behind. 
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling 

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time, 

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling 

And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—

Dim through the misty panes and thick green light, 

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. 
In all my dreams before my helpless sight, 

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning. 
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace 

Behind the wagon that we flung him in, 

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, 

His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin; 

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood 

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, 

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud 

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,— 

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest 

To children ardent for some desperate glory, 

The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est 

Pro patria mori.

By Wilfred Owen 

Makes you think doesn’t it? 

The featured painting is titled ‘Gassed’ and it by American Artist John Singer Sargent. It was the image that accompanied the poem in my GCSE textbook. 

Bye for now, Katy x